


And I've Moved Further than I Thought I Could (But I Missed You More than I Thought I Would)

by Hexate (oppressa)



Series: Now I Know I'm Falling in Deep [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Cultural Differences, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Possessiveness, Protectiveness, hair cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/Hexate
Summary: Ah, how he had missed Hvitserk.
Relationships: Hvitserk/Ivar (Vikings)
Series: Now I Know I'm Falling in Deep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140578
Kudos: 52





	And I've Moved Further than I Thought I Could (But I Missed You More than I Thought I Would)

Hvitserk already looks better than death warmed over, fed, watered, washed and clothed after Ivar sent Oleg's servants to dress him before their audience with the prince. The Rus tunic suits him, but his hair still hangs loose, though clean now and combed through. Ivar knows he refused to let them to do anything to it, likely slapping their hands away when they didn't understand him telling them it's something he can manage himself, as a Viking, as a matter of pride.

He spurns the soft furnishings now he's rested and sits on the floor, head bent forward, attempting to braid. It seems like he's having trouble, fingers fumbling with the muscle memory of how to do it properly, as if it's been some time since he bothered with this much grooming at all.

Ivar's content to watch for a while before Hvitserk senses him, meets his eyes, gives a quietly exasperated and long-missed acknowledgement of, “Ivar.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You're making a mess of that. Let me help you, brother.”

Hvitserk grumbles something about cutting it all off, then accepts, letting his arms drop with a sigh of frustration.

Ivar settles behind him, laying his crutch on the floor, making himself vulnerable as well. This behaviour in Kattegat would have soon lead to Hvitserk's dagger scoring across his throat but now, he's docile, bony shoulders relaxed, letting Ivar draw his hair over them to expose his own neck.

“You want it short, here?” He asks, brushing above his ears.

Hvitserk nods, decisively, so Ivar takes his knife and ever so carefully shears the sides afresh, as close as he can without bloodying Hvitserk's skin, turning his head now and again for an easier angle, pushing his back where he wants him to straighten it as the long hanks fall off into his lap. Relishing whatever tension there once was between them being completely gone. When it's done he can't resist admiring his work, running his fingers over the smooth undercut and through the fine, light brown crest above.

Ivar braids it not tight against his scalp how Hvitserk liked it but in a simpler style, similar to his own, from an all-too-conscious desire that he shouldn't stand out too much among the Rus, that Oleg shouldn't find him too wild, too different, too pagan but something softer, not so steeped in other's blood as Hvitserk is. Because unlike Ivar the harmless cripple, Hvitserk is a skilled fighter. Of course, this will become apparent when they go into battle, and he gets lost in the chaotic heat of it, thoroughly exhilarated whilst dealing the most devastating of death blows. But for now, his protective instinct over his older brother overwhelms everything else.

Hvitserk is patient and doesn't wince no matter how hard he tugs it, used to that, as Ivar sections off the strands, weaving them over and under each other, tying it back where he would have left the rest hanging.

“There.” He states his approval. “The Rus women will surely be very taken with the sight of the new heathen in their midst.” _If not a little alarmed._

Hvitserk laughs, glancing around at him. Ivar smirks but shakes his head, pointing at the bronze mirror hanging on the wall and placing a hand against his forehead, lifting his chin to meet his own eyes in there without flinching, making him see his strength, perfectly worthy of their name despite being cast out of their home. And as for Bjorn, being the object of Bjorn's fury, for the long overdue and entirely justifiable act of avenging their mother, what of it? Of course Bjorn would be furious, of course he would haul Hvitserk up in front of everyone, hitting him, ripping him to shreds. Ivar knows what really hurt Hvitserk is that Ubbe stood by and let him have it, their relationship permanently scarred after he jumped ship to join their younger brother.

He tilts his head, thinning his mouth critically and then turns round to punch him roughly in the side. Ivar grins, shoving him forward, towards the floor. It's so good to joke with him like this again, to hear the sound of his amusement, to see his eyes clear and green and not narrowed as they had been in the time when Hvitserk always regarded him with cold suspicion and only spoke to him through gritted teeth.

Now, it would appear, he has his confidence once more.

“I don't like all of this, Ivar.” He waves his hand, seemingly to encompass everything, voice hardening. “Although I know it would be unwise to appear... ungrateful, am I correct?”

Ivar nods, wordlessly circling an arm around his neck to emphasize it, how they are trapped, pulling up sharply. His throat flexes against the inside of Ivar's elbow.

“But we are in it together, huh? Nothing can hurt either of us while that's true.”

“Yes, I know.”

Sure enough they have betrayed each other, misunderstood each other, but there is still love. Ivar considers telling him more about Oleg, what's become of Oleg's brothers, then decides against it.

Instead he lets go of him and tips his head forward again, starts to massage his back, thumbs rubbing deeply into his spine. In the mirror, Hvitserk closes his eyes, breathes out slowly through his nose. He still wears his pendant on the thong around his neck, though his armband is missing. Ivar decides not to ask, they have yet to speak of many things, which are forgotten as Hvitserk leans into him. It's hard not to respond to how he seems to need Ivar, the renewed trust expressed not with so many words, but with physical gestures, meaning that much more. In the boat, he had practically collapsed out of pure exhaustion, although not before pulling him towards him and nestling against his side, not caring to keep his defences up anymore. It wasn't just because Ivar was a warm body after days of wandering in the cold and merely delaying where he finally would lie down and die as a shell of himself.

He abandons the massage and moves his hand around over his heart. It leaps at his brother's touch the way Ivar's did at the moment when he chose him. When he left Ubbe's side for the first time, for him.

With all his confusion, over Katia, Freydis, there's a welcome, nearly sweet certainty in Hvitserk being in this strangest of places. Later they will drink together, staying close by in the enormity of the foreign hall, Hvitserk will admit to him under his breath that he feels surrounded and it will bring something out in them, their shared love of discord, of destruction, of each other's loud, savage laughter, of _my brother_.

Perhaps he will have Hvitserk like that, drunk and warm and flushed after such exuberance, his insignificant weight draped over him as they make their way unsteadily through the rooms of the palace they have been given into his bed, an arm around his waist and the other propped up on his shoulder, wanting more. Ivar would expect nothing less from him on the eve of battle, with his blood up, the anticipation of throwing himself into a frenzied attack, and feeding off Ivar's excitement as well, his delight in the knowledge that Hvitserk belongs to nobody, but with him, and they will be unstoppable.

He whispers, “This was fate, the will of the Gods, that I found you in the forest.”

Hvitserk scoffs, with the air of someone who has done enough thinking about fate, about his place.

“They knew you needed someone to watch you here, Ivar. I found you, too.”  
  
  
  



End file.
